


between two points

by lambchops (lambmeat)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Barebacking, Face Slapping, M/M, Mild Master/Pet, Pup!McCree, Puppy Play, Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:08:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27965795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lambmeat/pseuds/lambchops
Summary: It was something that Gabriel mentioned in passing, working the kinks out of McCree’s obedience the old fashioned way as he put it. The younger didn’t know what he quite meant, not until the little pet names started.Dog, namely. That one he can get away with in front of others if he can cover it as a biting insult.It feels different when it’s growled in his ear while his commander all but tries to break him in his bid to ruin him for anyone else.Custom-crafted— for a friend’s dog, Gabe said— with reinforced gold, stained black leather, and McCree’s dog tags adjusted to the heavy metal ring where a leash ought to go. They jingle discreetly as every agent should with their tags, with a little extra click where the ring connects with the buckle.
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Reaper | Gabriel Reyes
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	between two points

Leather feels heavy and mutable around his throat with the only prominent feature being the cold bite of metal against his adam’s apple. Holding his mess of hair up in a hasty ponytail, McCree chews on his lower lip as the collar is buckled in place. Fingers hook under the collar, checking the tightness of it like McCree wasn’t standing there, capable of telling him otherwise. 

Like he were a dog, dependent and dumb. 

His red bandana is tugged up a little higher than he normally keeps it, as though he were fighting a cold room and not cold eyes staring at the slip of polished gold that catches the light. Staring at the glint, almost stupefied as he angles it this way and that to make it sparkle, he doesn’t catch the amused crinkle of Reyes’ eyes. His commander stands behind him— flush against him and corralling him against the bathroom counter where he had produced the fine leather from a drawer. 

Letting his hair fall over the collar, hiding it from most perspectives, he swallows heavily. It makes the swell of his throat strain against the leather. 

It was something that Gabriel mentioned in passing, working the kinks out of McCree’s obedience the old fashioned way as he put it. The younger didn’t know what he quite meant, not until the little pet names started. 

Dog, namely. That one he can get away with in front of others if he can cover it as a biting insult. 

It feels different when it’s growled in his ear while his commander all but tries to break him in his bid to ruin him for anyone else. 

Oddly possessive, speaking of McCree’s inherent loyalty and dedication while insinuating their close companionship. 

Jesse blushes— insinuating his  _ ownership.  _

Reyes slides a hand up his side, tracing the hard muscle over his ribs as he lets the younger take his time accepting the collar. Less resistance than he expected, likely dampened by the cost of labor Reyes had put into the collar. It was custom crafted— for a friend’s dog, Gabe said— with reinforced gold, stained black leather, and McCree’s dog tags adjusted to the heavy metal ring where a leash ought to go. They jingle discreetly as every agent should with their tags, with a little extra  _ click _ where the ring connects with the buckle. 

“Like it, pup?” Reyes hums, hand shifting to settle over his hip, broad palm over Jesse’s stomach. It makes the agent shift in place as much as he can, seeing his Gabriel was pressed against him. 

Cock half-hard, heavy against the swell of McCree’s ass. 

Nodding mindlessly, fixated on pressing back against Reyes, he’s rewarded a chuckle at his expense. He doesn’t even have to guide the cowboy back against him like he used to, Jesse taking it entirely upon himself to work Reyes’ cock in the creased fabric of his ass. 

Perhaps wanting more out of it, seeing as one of his hands snakes past Reyes’ as he tries to get a hold of his own cock, surely filling out with deep breaths and sighs right in his ear. 

“Ah—“ Reyes tsks, catching McCree by the wrist, “did I say you could touch?”

Shying just so, Jesse shakes his head. 

Scoffing, Reyes takes McCree’s wrists and forces his hands flat on the marble countertop before pulling his hips out. There’s a sudden absence of warmth at his backside and the sound of fabric as Reyes frees himself.

Then McCree feels the heavy weight of Reyes’ cock nudge his balls before slipping between his thighs. 

Those hands McCree focuses too much of his attention on at all times settle on his hips before sliding down, pushing at him until he closes his thighs. It creates a tight canal for Reyes to use, the silky soft fabric of Jesse’s boxer briefs gentle enough to remove the need for lube. His movements are entirely selfish as he fucks McCree’s thighs crudely— rough and slow, their thighs clapping loudly, amplified by the tiled walls. The collar jingles every time their bodies connect, the sound melodic to McCree’s ears. 

“Gabe, please,” McCree starts, panting as each thrust grants him just enough friction to draw fat beads of precum from his slit, “I want—“

The words die in his throat as Reyes’ hand slides up to his throat, fitting above his collar and neatly under his jaw as if it was made to be there. Reyes squeezes until Jesse wheezes on his inhale.

“Dogs don’t talk, McCree.”

Nodding fervently, the hand loosens enough that he can breathe deeply again, using the privilege to groan unabashed. 

As Reyes finishes, he pulls McCree’s briefs down to press his tip against his hole, stroking himself to completion as he presses and presses until the head pops in. It rips a whine out of McCree, achingly hard and understimulated, as he’s forced to take his commander’s load without the gratification of being gaped open. 

“Good boy,” Reyes says, voice tight as he milks himself. Righting McCree’s briefs as though his cum wasn’t freely leaking out of him, he pats his flank in a manner that can only be deemed to be patronizing. It makes McCree’s ears burn with humiliation as Reyes moves away from him, starting the shower to prepare for drills in another half hour. 

With no invitation to join his commander in the shower, he tries to make himself comfortable on his spacious bed. It’s hard, still throbbing in his briefs and now dripping with cum, sullying his underwear, but he manages without touching himself  _ too  _ much. Watching the bathroom door, straining to catch footsteps, he teases himself through his briefs, expecting to be rewarded for his patience as soon as Reyes steps out. 

What he gets instead is a hard glare and a reprimandation. 

“Dogs aren’t allowed on the furniture,” Reyes says, standing before McCree where he lays reclined on the mess of comforters. Quick to slip into the floor and onto his knees, McCree looks up at him expectantly. 

Quick to catch on, he doesn’t speak his questions. He has to trust that Reyes will simply know what blanks he needs to fill in. 

“You want to get off?”

McCree’s eyes light up.

“Tonight, if you’re good,” Reyes’ hand lifts his chin to capture his full attention past the momentary disappointment, “don’t take the collar off, don’t touch yourself, and don’t speak unless spoken to. Got it?”

McCree nods slowly, and it earns him a heavy-handed pat on the cheek. Slipping away from his agent easily, he shoulders his daily bag and unlocks the door, leaving Jesse to his own devices.

It’s near impossible not to break a rule right out of the gate— Gabe wouldn’t know if he got off right after he left, right?— but Jesse manages to get himself together enough to report on time to morning drills. 

It’s almost painful meeting Reyes’ eyes, blushing hard enough to make him fidget in line while he walks down the aisle of agents, taking daily attendance. Pausing before McCree, he clicks his pen and sets it on the clipboard. The noise draws everyone else’s eyes but his. 

Manually, he lifts McCree’s chin, and he startles. Reyes isn’t one to be touchy, especially not in front of others, seeing as their relationship was strictly forbidden under several policies. Wide-eyed, he tries to find intent in Reyes’ dark eyes as he casually adjusts McCree’s bandana. 

“Dress yourself for the first time today, agent?” The rhetorical question garners a few chuckles at his expense from the line. McCree retains his silence, blinking at his commander. 

Reyes’ eyes crinkle in the way that can only mean that McCree’s done something right for once. Impressed. 

The second little test isn’t as easy. 

Reyes keeps him pinned to the wall of the bathroom stall. He presses two fingers into McCree’s tight hole, quick and dirty. It’s a stretch, making McCree’s jaw fall open in a gasp as his commander’s thick digits probe for his sweet spot— curling and petting until his head jerks up, collar clinking loudly against the tiled walls.

“Be good for me, Jess,” Reyes says quietly, milking that swell inside of him that makes his eyes roll back. A third digit presses against his rim, pushing until Jesse’s body gives. Panting openly, McCree feels the tight coil of arousal twisting in his stomach, never fully unwound from earlier frustrations. With three fingers fucking him open, he can’t help the occassional whimper and gasp that escapes his lips.

_ “Don’t.” _

A whistling note escapes him, one of his legs coming up off the floor in a reflexive attempt at stifling his impending end.

The door opens, causing Reyes to go suddenly still, fingers knuckle-deep inside his agent. McCree holds his breath, hearing as someone approaches the urinals and unzips their fly, oblivious to what was happening in the single stall.

Still working Jesse over, fingers crooked and massaging his sweet spot just right, he presses McCree into the wall and breathes, heavy and hot, against the shell of his ear. Reyes has a fine understanding of McCree’s limits, as his hand comes up to muzzle the younger’s mouth before a noise can slip out. He had long ago discovered that the more keyed up McCree gets, closer to getting off and spilling his load, the louder and whinier he gets.

Biting down on his finger without a care, enough to make Reyes audibly grind his jaw in discomfort, McCree barely keeps it together long enough for the man sharing the bathroom to finish his business and leave. The moment the door shuts, Reyes is pulling his fingers free and patting Jesse’s hip as though it was a well-fought sparring match wrapping up and not him leaving McCree aching and dizzy.

Baring down around the sudden emptiness, McCree groans at the loss. On unsteady legs, he straightens and rights his clothes as Reyes adjusts himself in his uniform.

“1700 sharp.”

All he can do is nod and wipe the line of drool from his lips.

Reyes’ quarters were already unlocked by the time McCree showed up early— a first. He still gently raps his knuckles against the door before opening it, awkward in his nerves. He holds his hands weirdly, worrying his fingernails as he steps into the room.

He’s oddly empty from hours prior.

His commander is seated at the small lounge area, fashioned like an old style library with an area lowered into the floor and a comfortable wingback chair before an ottoman, pushed to the side. Reyes is looking over his tablet, not visibly acknowledging McCree until he takes another half-step into the room.

With small reading glasses that somehow age him ten years and rejuvenate him just as much as his constant semi-squint is remedied and his undercut free from his beanie, McCree already feels warmth stir in his stomach.

Simply gesturing with two curled fingers, he beckons the younger over to him. Slinking over, he stops before the chair, uncertain.

He’s already hard, and it earns him a quirked eyebrow as Reyes looks him over. It makes his cheeks burn.

“Strip— mutts don’t wear clothes.”

Something adjacent to embarrassment, maybe shame, blossoms in his chest. At first, he tries to settle on just boxers, but Reyes glowers at him. The reprimand sits heavy on his tongue, and McCree shies away, making quick work of his underwear before he had to hear it. Shoving everything off to the side in a disorderly pile, he blushes in mortification as he’s already filled out in full.

All that remains is the leather collar, clinking dog tags settling as he shifts. 

“Sit.”

Sinking to his knees, he figures he’s got a good grasp on what he ought to be doing as his commander’s pet, his  _ dog. _ His cock sits heavy in the crease of his thigh, and he tries not to touch it at all, not until he’s given permission. Fists braced on his thighs as to avoid any contact, McCree struggles to look up at him without shying away.

It seems that Reyes is content to ignore him, leaving him flushed and hard and waiting at his feet. Whatever document he was reviewing took priority over his lover it seemed, and after about five minutes, McCree began to squirm.

“Morrison sending this shit over like he doesn’t have an army of secretaries to handle his business,” Reyes sighs, taking off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose in exasperation. Setting his glasses and his tablet aside, he finally looks at McCree for the first time in near ten minutes.

“C’mere,” he beckons, spreading his legs apart and patting the front of the seat. Hesitantly, McCree shuffles forward on his hands and knees until he’s just before the seat cushion.

“Paws up,” he says.  _ Paws.  _ That makes McCree blush furiously, not used to the odd lilt in his commander’s voice nor the treatment. Tentatively, he sets his hands on the edge of the seat, then lifts himself up onto his knees. Then Reyes takes his jaw in his palm, guiding their eyes together.

“Speak.”

McCree only blinks at him, confused by the command. What does he want him to say? He hasn’t been allowed to speak all day, so what he’s supposed to say in the moment is entirely lost on him.

On the hand holding his head up by the jaw, the index taps against his high cheekbone before the contact disappears. Just as fast, he strikes McCree, hard enough that it makes McCree choke on a whimper and his head snaps to the side.

Gently, Reyes cups his jaw again and guides Jesse into looking at him again. The younger is confused, eyes wide as he searches Gabriel’s face for answers.

“Speak,” Reyes says again, slower, more deliberate, and softer. McCree, still lost, takes his head out of his hold and bares his cheek, bracing. Another slap connects, and the pained noise is more guttural, breathy even. The collar and his dog tags jingle noisily, and the heat of each strike mixes with the blush of his arousal spilled across his face. His cock throbs with the pulse of the stinging skin, dripping precum onto the fine carpet.

Almost inaudibly, McCree whimpers— projected, purposeful. Reyes raises an eyebrow, coaxing. The response stays caught in McCree’s throat, too embarrassed to follow through. 

He’s spurred on with another harsh slap, and a throaty groan comes loose along with much of McCree’s higher cognitive power— he gazes at Reyes with half-lidded eyes and a dopey look after that strike.

“Speak,” Reyes encourages. McCree whines, then gives a pitiful little  _ arf.  _ It makes Reyes’ eyes soften, the hard lines of false disappointment smoothing out. It garners another noise, more confident, as McCree’s not struck again, although he almost wishes Reyes would keep going.

“There’s my pup,” Reyes says, voice honeyed and placating. The pet name goes straight to McCree’s cock, which has begun to leave his thigh tacky with precum. “Let me see— have you been good?”

Eager now, easily falling into the headspace of abject obedience, McCree shifts backwards and settles on his haunches. Splitting his thighs apart and sitting up straight, he shows off his cock where it bobs above the floor. Ruby red and flushed with his edging, it makes a right mess on the carpet.

“Good boy,” Reyes hums, leaning back in the seat. His hands easily work open his uniform and free his cock, half-hard. McCree’s eyes follow his hands as he holds himself up at the base and strokes himself languidly.

“Still have to work for your reward, boy.”

There’s no need for further instruction— Jesse surges forward eagerly, shoving his nose where Reyes’ hand holds his length up, getting a deep inhale of the older’s rich musk after a long day. It warrants a scoff from the man above, though it easily bleeds into a content sigh as McCree starts to kiss at the thick vein running beneath the head. 

Coaxing him to full hardness with tiny kisses and licks, he’s encouraged to hurry along with an impatient pat of the now flushed head against his tongue. Taking him in his maw, McCree works the tip against the flat top of his tongue, suckling with big, doe eyes looking up at the older with nothing behind them. 

“Should get you a tail,” Reyes muses with a slight smile, petting the hair out of Jesse’s face as he works him over diligently. The idea brings a powerful wave of heat to McCree’s cheeks, equal parts embarrassment and arousal as he can only think about the soft faux fur of the tail curled over his back as he presented to his commander. How it would lightly tickle as the tip ghosted across his shoulders as he wagged it. He groans around the length in his mouth only for it to be slipped free. 

“On the bed, hands and knees.”

Rising on near-numb legs, he does as he’s told. The comforter dips beneath his weight and cushions him as he settles in place. A strike of self-consciousness comes through as he presents himself, as this isn’t typically something they’d do— they generally just make it clear-cut, fuck and carry on with their lives. There are short, tender moments between them on occasion where they simply revel in each other’s bodies, but those are far and few between. Reyes is a very succinct and straight-forward man who doesn’t buy into a lot of extra play.

The presentation of this play in the form of an expensive, handcrafted collar is a first, and it’s all hitting McCree the moment he’s got his ass on display. It seems that Gabriel notices the slight shift in demeanor, and as he comes up behind his younger partner, he offers soothing strokes to his flank and thighs. It helps to relax the tension from his shoulders as he settles into the cushy bed.

There’s the click of that familiar bottle uncapping, and then a moment where all McCree can hear is the distinct slick sounds of the older warming the lube in his hands.

Ever kind.

With a jolt, several large fingers sweep across his hole, smearing the lube across before dipping in. Still stretched out from earlier, three fingers easily sink into his hole. Hearing a hum behind him, those fingers don’t retract— instead, they leisurely pump in and out for a minute, if just to make McCree relax even further.

The shallow pressure of his fingers is quickly replaced with his cock, the fat tip pressing against the ring of muscle. There’s still some resistance, seeing as it always takes thorough prep work to comfortably take all of Reyes’ length.

Whining as Gabriel sheathes himself fully in his agent’s tight heat, he already finds himself struggling to stay upright, especially as Reyes doesn’t falter before starting at a rough pace. His early edge comes back with a vengeance, taking no more than a minute before McCree’s moans are warping into gasps. The collar jingles in melodic little notes as Gabriel uses the force of his thrusts to bounce the younger back onto his cock.

“You want to cum, Jess?”

The dog tags betray his fervent nodding.

The younger can only groan, rumbling and growling, as Reyes bucks his hips  _ harder, _ just the way he likes it. Hard— hitting so deep it ached and so rough that it caused sparks where his eyes rolled back— and slow, making sure McCree felt every inch as he dragged himself out and snapped back in.

Burying his face in the comforter, he claws at the bedding as he starts to spill onto the smooth linen. All he can do is tremble and keen pathetically, pillowing the blanket around his head as Reyes continues to drive into him without reprieve.

“So stupid, pup. All I need to do is smack you around and show you my cock and you’ll just roll over for me,” Reyes says, voice heady and low. The little pet name he’s taken to using on McCree gets the desired effect of a long whine, then a stunted attempt at a bark as a particularly rough thrust knocks the wind out of his lungs. The weight of Reyes’ cock in his guts pulls his eyelids down, half-lidded and eyes glazed over.

Hole obscenely wet from Reyes’ generous application of lube and fucked loose from the rough pace he’s trapped under, he all but howls as Gabriel settles his hands on his waist with a bruising grip and truly lays into him. He can hear every stroke clearly, slick and loud with each slap of their bodies connecting, even above his own symphony of noises. 

He’s already cum, the pool of seed caught beneath him as he’s fucked well past the point of overstimulation. There’s a fine understanding that as his commander’s dog, he’s a tool— just as he is on the field, as a protector and as muscle, he has a use in the bedroom as Gabriel’s personal pet. 

Swearing behind him, there’s a falter and trip in rhythm as Reyes pinches and pins the younger’s waist to the bedding. That, coupled with the following growl that claws out of his throat, signal his end, if it weren’t obvious by him pumping his load deep in McCree’s guts. His seed pools deep in him, weighing him down and finally making his legs give way as he slumps down, Reyes’ cock slipping free.

Groggily, the corners of his vision blurry with sleep, he mindlessly swats at Reyes’ hand as he feels them try and unbuckle his collar. Chuckling, Reyes lets Jesse get away with the offense and instead moves about him, getting ready to tuck the tired man in, seeing as he’s barely cognizant enough to move out of a puddle of his own cum.

**Author's Note:**

> [horny twitter](https://twitter.com/commanderbait)
> 
> thanks to a mutual on twitter i have nothing in my head but puppy mccree and c*ck


End file.
